He raised his head.
“Don’t trifle with me!” he answered fretfully; “tell me exactly what the servant said.”
The mistress repeated the words. Miss Restall had passed a quieter night, and had been able for a few hours to leave her room. He asked next if any reply to his letter had arrived. No reply had been received.
If Adela definitely abstained from writing to him, the conclusion would be too plain to be mistaken. She had given him up—and who could blame her?
There was a knock at the street-door. The mistress looked out.
“Here’s Mr. Stone come back, sir!” she exclaimed joyfully—and hurried away to let him in.
Cosway never looked up when his friend appeared.
“I knew I should succeed,” said Stone. “I have seen your wife.”
“Don’t speak of her,” cried Cosway. “I should have murdered her when I saw her face, if I had not instantly left the house. I may be the death of the wretch yet, if you presist in speaking of her!”
Stone put his hand kindly on his friend’s shoulder.